


Second Chances

by morrezela



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Abuse, Graphic Violence, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: Wrathion is captured by the Legion and tortured. He thinks that he is going to die, but is given a second chance to live in more ways than one.





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> Please note that there are some graphic depictions of torture involved in this fic. The M rating is for that and not for sexual content. Please do not read of such things are likely to bother you.

If there was one thing that Wrathion would love to say to the entire Alliance, it was “I told you so.” Since he had taken his first breath, he had been trying to save Azeroth. It was his duty. It was a burden placed upon his shoulders by a father who had fallen into depravity. 

The very earth cried into his bones. It pulled at him in ceaseless desire. Wrathion knew that he must protect it. And so he had worked to do as much as he could to protect it. He was young, even for a dragon. His power could not hope to match that of elder drakes let alone the Burning Legion. So he had worked from the shadows and taken every opportunity he could find.

All his machinations had failed him. First was Varian’s refusal to unite Azeroth under one banner. Then game the alternate universe of Draenor, and then… Well, he did not entirely know what happened after that. He held the honor of being one of the first captured among Azeroth’s citizens. He had heard rumor that Varian had fallen in battle. That bit of news had been screamed from the lips of some human soldiers before they died. 

Those humans had died cursing the very name of the Legion, so Wrathion hoped that they had gone into the light or whatever goodness might lay beyond death. There were lesser whispers among the Horde prisoners. He assumed that was because there were fewer of them. The first to run from a battle were often the first to live. 

The knowledge of his rightness was a cold comfort to him. Then again, the idea of anything cold was like a tantalizing oasis, kept just out of reach. The fel magics that sought to corrupt him burned as it his hide. They were like a fire, ever seeking to seep into the spaces that separated one scale from the next. 

Only the comfort of Azeroth’s earth grounded him, but he was loath to call upon his ties with it. Escaping from the power of the Legion through it meant exposing himself to the Old God’s madness. That madness had consumed his father and all but a handful of the Black Dragonflight. Wrathion had not worked so hard and so long to destroy his corrupted family only to fall to the same darkness. 

Yet without his father’s power, he would be as helpless as any other dragon captured by the Legion. His captors were uninterested in bargaining with him, and bargaining was Wrathion’s best weapon. Though great power would one day be his, he knew both his physical and magical limitations. A brilliant mind was the most valuable asset in a war, but it did little to help him out of his torturous prison. Even his mind failed him in his present circumstances. The constant pain took a toll on his mental prowess the same as it would affect any other sentient creature. 

The burns on his forepaws were a testament to the state of his mental wellbeing. He had tried to shift into a human form in an attempt to use the more dexterous nature of human fingers to undo the locks that held his prison shut. That effort had not ended well. Human flesh singed easily, no matter the magic keeping him in the form. His shriek had echoed throughout the mostly empty cells of his prison as he collapsed back into his natural state. 

But even though he had shifted back, the scars remained, pulsing with the same, green energy that was always wearing away at him. He couldn’t sleep. Exhaustion was creeping in on him. Though he had lasted longer than any of the other prisoners, he worried what would happen when he lost the last of his strength. 

There were only two ways that his suffering would end. He would either give in to the power of the Old Gods or the Legion. Neither would end well for Azeroth. So Wrathion kept on fighting. His body was long past the point of resistance, but still he refused to give up. Many had tried to claim his life. None had succeeded. 

His resolve only seemed to spur his captors to increase their torments. Even though he hated his weakness, he began to flinch whenever he heard them wander close by. It was torment added to torment, and he was certain it would never end. He dedicated himself to blocking out the sounds of the world around him. The retreat rankled at what was left of his pride, but he had few options left. The more he could detach himself from his surroundings, the better. 

Though the pain still licked at his senses. Though the whispers of both the Legion and the Old Gods whispered in his ears, he tried to escape from his prison the only way that he knew how. He fixed his thoughts on the past because he had no room to plot about the future. These thoughts brought about a different sort of pain. There had not been much that was pleasant about his life. There were many that sought his death or his control. 

But there was one person whose face tormented his mind as it sought escape. Golden hair and overly earnest blue eyes judged Wrathion in his suspended state of consciousness. Anduin had been a friend. Though human, he had held his own against Wrathion’s wits and temper. He had thought of making Anduin his mate, his consort – even though he knew such things were just fancies. 

Varian would never have stood for it even though Wrathion had specifically chosen to weight the Pandarian conflict in favor of the Alliance. Anduin’s father had been particularly protective of his heir, and a black dragon was not considered to be such a good catch. Wrathion’s relatives had tried to marry their way into Lorderon’s court, and they had manipulated Stormwind’s in Varian’s absences.

The Black Dragonflight was not well liked among humans, but even ignoring Wrathion’s somewhat dubious relations, he was certain that Anduin hated him now. Garrosh’s release would haunt Wrathion’s legacy until the end of his days. Though he stood behind his reasonings for it, few would see it his way. There was no small measure of regret inside of him that Anduin would not be one of those people. 

When the Legion finally dragged him from his cell, hands ripping at his burned hide, he could feel his consciousness start to leave him. But he was consoled that his last thoughts were of his one, true friend in life. 

~~~~~~~~

When Wrathion woke up, he wasn’t burning any longer. Oh, he was in pain, that much was certain. But it was more the pain of his wounds pulling against each other. It was the fresh hell of scabbing, and not the familiar feeling of molten fire trying to seep into his very bones. Warily, he opened his eyes. A human in Stormwind regalia was standing at the entrance of what looked like a tent. 

“What?” Wrathion croaked, bringing a distinctly human hand in front of his face. 

The guard did not deign to answer him, only leave to whisper something to what Wrathion assumed was another guard just outside the tent. Were he stronger, Wrathion would rise and demand answers. But he wasn’t, and given that he was in the keeping of the Alliance, it was in his best interests to play meek little dragon until he was able to defend himself from any repercussions from his previous actions in life. 

He lay there in silence, glaring in the guard’s direction because he wasn’t good at pretending to be meek. It seemed like ages before the sound of boots stomping in the ground started to grow close. The tent’s flaps were pushed aside dramatically, and Wrathion almost didn’t recognize the fiery face that greeted him. Anduin’s hair had grown out, and his clothing had changed to something more fitting of a king. 

And that, of course, was what he was now. Though the expression on his face was strong, his shoulders were stooped ever so slightly lower than they had ever set before. The weight of grief or perhaps even leadership bearing down upon them. 

“Leave us,” Anduin ordered the guards. They obeyed him instantly. Another change from the last time Wrathion had seen him. Back then, Anduin’s guards would have hesitated for fear of angering Varian. But Varian was no their supreme leader. 

“We had wondered where you had gone off to,” Anduin broke the silence.

“If you expect me to explain my whereabouts and dealings since we last saw each other, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for a different dragon,” Wrathion said. The impact of his words were dulled by the groan of pain that came out of his lips as he tried to sit up. 

Instantly, Anduin’s hands were on his body, urging him to lay back down. “You are badly injured,” Anduin explained as if Wrathion did not already know this. “And if you are half as smart as you’ve always pretended to be, you’ll let yourself heal before going out of this tent. There are many who are interested in speaking with you, and there is only so far my political good will goes especially when the Alliance does not fully stand behind me.” 

“I will have to concede your point for now,” Wrathion admitted. “I fear I lack the strength to even shift forms right now.”

A flash of guilt came across Anduin’s face. “Magic prevents it. When we found you, we weren’t certain if you had succumbed to the Legion’s corruption or not. That and it was easier to treat your wounds this way.”

“Hmm,” Wrathion let his skepticism out in his hum. “And did you fly to my side to patch me up like the good priest you are?” he teased. 

Instead of flushing or even objecting as he might have before, Anduin looked down into his hands. “I was already here. On the shore, I mean. The Alliance is reluctant to allow me near a battle, but sitting in Stormwind will not cure me of my lack of experience. So I struck a compromise with my fellow leaders and only helped clean up some pockets of left over resistors. Your captors among them.”

“Oh? So you were my hero,” Wrathion tried not be so pleased at the revelation as he was.

“I was not kind to them,” Anduin said. “I knew that not all conflict could be solved through diplomacy, but I have never killed so many before.”

“They deserved it,” Wrathion countered. “The Legion deserves to die. Think of the worlds they have destroyed. The lives they’ve taken.”

Anduin winced. “They took my father from me. But… when I saw them carrying you… when I saw those wounds all over your body… All I could see was that they had taken somebody else from me, and that they needed to pay for that. I was not kind in their deaths.”

“That sounds like you proved your ferocity in battle to me,” Wrathion replied. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“You don’t understand,” Anduin replied. “I attacked them for the good of Azeroth, but I slaughtered them for you.”

If it would not hurt so much, Wrathion would have arched an eyebrow.

“I’m not a child anymore,” Anduin continued after a moment, “and I am not a prince. I cannot make the mistakes I once had the leisure to make. When I look back on our friendship, I think that I may have missed some deeper feeling. I need to know if you, possibly, felt the same. I need you to be honest with me on this. Do not lie to me or deceive me.”

“It concerns me that it took you so long to realize I had considered romantic relations with you,” Wrathion replied. “I would have thought you to know me well enough to know that I am forever planning and plotting my future. Surely, I would not have thought of a future without you in it.” 

“And what now?” Anduin asked. “What is it you’re planning now?”

“How to convince the Alliance and Horde not to murder me over the Garrosh incident. How to convince you to get over the ill will you likely harbor over that same incident. How to get into your bed even though my looks are probably ruined now,” Wrathion flippantly replied. “The last two, by the way, are not mutually exclusive from one another.”

Anduin shook his head. “Your first goal should be to recover,” he ordered. “Although, I would appreciate you working on your reputation with the Alliance. As for the scars, don’t worry about them. I know the consequences of battle even if I have much to learn when waging it.”

“I will hold you to your word you know,” Wrathion said. “When I’m out of this bed, I’ll be aiming for yours.”

Anduin shook his head, but before he could respond a soldier poked her head in to relay a request for his presence at a meeting. Wrathion watched him leave and stared at the flap of the tent long after he was gone. As he settled back down in his bed, he thought of ways that he could ingratiate himself into the good graces of the Alliance leaders and then the Horde. 

He was going to need a good start on his plotting. Anduin might have changed, but he was never going to have enough duplicity in him to circumvent the political mire that was Azeroth. That was okay though, Anduin was more the shining hero type. Wrathion could use a hero like that to save his hide on occasion. 

The least he could do was go above and beyond on his political scheming.


End file.
